Red-eye orb chronicles
by Rosaria's Thumb
Summary: "I can see it in your eyes. If you didn't invade, didn't pillage, whatever would you do?" Rosaria's Thumb hasn't been very active lately, but what kind of hunter can resist a challenge? This is a story of PvP experiences and covenants, victories and losses, and the fate of the fingers themselves. I've barely begun, but I will update within the week


_**The wager**_

" _Like Yellowfinger, you can choose to believe that all fingers share a camaraderie, but do not force your romance on the rest of us._ "

* * *

"It's a matter of aesthetics," I tell Heysel, "I had never imagined being able to expunge my _imperfections_ , if you catch my meaning. The crooked nose, uneven teeth, and dreadful skin- even for an undead!"

"Yours seems very human, really," she responds, her voice muffled in the ridiculous cloth she keeps wrapped around her head, "but I know just how you feel. I must've been reborn in the grace of our lady a hundred times yet still I am not satisfied. However, I feel myself coming closer and closer to _her_ and my ideals with every severed tongue I offer."

"Ah, speaking of which, how goes the hunting? I understand you were searching for a tome in that foul swamp past the forest..?"

Heysel looks down, or at least appears to. Long had she been searching for ways to improve her sorceries through apprenticeship and study, but her tendency to disembowel any newcomer to these dying lands made opportunities scarce. Indeed, with Creighton pillaging away in the Boreal valley, Kirk's constant complaining of ' _the good old days'_ , and Leonhard's thinly veiled disdain for her, I was the only one Heysel could talk to about such things, or about anything at all. Of late, she has been trying to discover a tome rumored to contain the sorceries of Farron, that she considers to be an heirloom of sorts, considering her heritage.

"No," she finally answers, "The swamp has been picked clean, surely you must have heard. A band of pillagers; one burning as kindled ash does, another glowing white like the soul, and one that shone radiant like the bonfire. Each wielded the blades of the old darkwraiths and great shields that even my magic-imbued pick could not pierce. I have tried to reclaim what is rightfully mine, twice in fact, only to be met with failure and pointed-down gestures."

I had heard. Ever since that nauseating lord of sludge Aldrich left the cathedral the fingers have been encountering an increasing number of ashen folk across the ever-changing landscapes of Lothric. "World's gone mad again girls," Kirk said about it, "just like it always does".

"Chin up Yellowfinger," I say, "of all our lady's servants you are the most devoted and willful; and no-one can carve out tongues like you do, mine always ended up torn and pulpy. What is your secret?"

This seems to perk her up. "I've told you before, it's in the flick of the wrist! A good Farron dagger will do the trick, as the Watchers could tell you"

"They don't seem to do much talking nowadays" I somberly reply.

Suddenly, the knight of thorns himself appears, spat out by a roaring flame emanating from the nearby bonfire. Lady Rosaria looks up sheepishly for a moment in a rare moment of curiosity. Kirk retrieves himself from the floor, attempting to regain some composure after being so obviously repelled in his red-eye orb use. "Bloody estus-chuggers," he mumbles. "Gank-spankers and parry-happies…" Kirk often speaks in terms none of us understand. I'm not quite sure if they originate in the worlds of old or if they're complete gibberish; a sign of Kirk's slow hollowing perhaps? Heysel believes that he will never lose his sanity as long as he has a lady to serve. Whatever the state of his mind, the knight of thorns remains as prickly as ever. He accosts us in his gruff monotone:

"Don't you ladies have hunting to do? Seems all you ever do is talk, wasting your breath. Stop waggling your tongues and go fetch some for our lady instead. Especially you" -he points a thorny finger at me- "You could use the souls, if that hollow twinkle in your eye is any indication. Your cheeks seem a bit thin as well."

"Bold words for one who has failed in his pillaging mere moments ago" I retort, "I'm quite capable of producing twice-thrice the amount of tongues you can. Unlike you, I am not afraid to venture outside this cathedral."

Heysel shifts uncomfortably. She dislikes this kind of friction between Rosaria's followers, she calls them petty rivalries, and rightly so, though they can be quite serious as times. Leonhard and Creighton have even crossed blades once. The Wanderer…. doesn't do much talking since then. He has begun hunting 'moonie' knights, as I hear it, in order to hone his skills.

"Really?" longfinger Kirk pulls me from my reverie, appearing like he is smiling behind his spiked helmet's orifices. "You think so little one? Well, how about a little wager then?"

A wager? "I'm listening…"

He takes a moment to ponder the rules. "A point system. One per tongue retrieved, two awarded for blood-stained sunlight medals, and three points for Darkmoon tongues. The wager ends after one of us reaches thirty points- no cheating, of course. The winner keeps the earnings and so gains our lady's favour."

I frown. In my prime, I'd use my red soapstone in search of honorable duels rather than invade like the rest of the fingers. In doing so now, I would avoid the moonie covenant's scrutiny and therefore deprive myself of the highest value item in the wager. To have a chance at victory, I'd have to venture far out of my comfort zone. Kirk is evidently aware of this…. but my disadvantage cannot be so great, can it?... Surely invading nowadays isn't so different as dueling. Last I checked there was courtesy even among struggling undead. With a bit of resourcefulness, I can do this! You will rue this day, Kirk. By the time we're done, you're going to crack and break like an old red orb!

"One last thing," he adds, "the loser of our wager will sever his own tongue for our covenant. For good."

This implies no restoration by the power of our lady. The stakes are high. Heysel shakes her head, urging me to refuse. 'What is the point? Are we not allies?' she must wonder.

"Very well, I accept." We shake hands, his thorns grate the edge of my gauntlets. "may the best undead win."

...

"This" Heysel says,"is a terrible idea. I've done much invading, you know, and little of it was pleasant"

Her voice drops to a whisper. "Please keep this to yourself; without the assistance of the Ghrus, basilisks, and the overgrown crustaceans, I would have great difficulties securing my share of tongues. The hunt has changed; our prey's estus flasks are potent and bottomless. That aside, Kirk has been playing this game long before any of us. I implore you to reconsider"

As she speaks, I adorn my trusty weaponry and equip myself with ample firebombs and throwing knives. I stuff my pack with charcoal pine resin; remnants of a more active time. Dusting off my red eye orb, I feel ready.

"You sell yourself short", I say "have faith, Yellowfinger! With a bit of luck, I may find some scrolls for you on my journey. I swear to you now: this adventure will strengthen our covenant in the end."

 **…..**

I note, with some amusement, that the Deacons have been slain. It seems that even our mighty knights or the giant protectors cannot hold back the ashen warriors. What could they be after? In any case, perhaps now the deep corruption's spread will halt, at least until that revolting man-eater returns.

I stroll out of the cathedral. The situation is worse than I thought. Every face I see has been ravaged by the curse. Corpses wander the cemetery, infested with maggots and attacking those who yet retain their sanity. Thankfully, the growing dangers of Lothric can be very beneficial to an invader, for the red phantoms of Rosaria are allies to all manner of creatures that crave the souls of the undead.

After being bitten by a number of dogs of alarming agility, I finally carve my path down the road of sacrifices towards the crucifixion woods. The Crystal Sage could often be found meditating here, but I see no sign of him now. No doubt he has lost his way, much like the rest of the heirs of fire. If the ash have not claimed his soul yet, they will soon.

I gaze upon the "overgrown crustaceans" Heysel has grown so fond of. They are no bigger than in my day, and there are but few of them left. The woods themselves have become rotted and the air is heavy with despair. This area will nicely do.

I am floating in the flows of time and space, becoming ethereal as I leave my body behind. Ahead of me, there is a light, the resplendent soul of unwitting prey. It calls me like a beacon. I materialize a crimson colored hand reaching out towards the light, a physical manifestation of my will. With it, I surge out of the void and into an Ashen One's world as a spirit, ready to hunt.

* * *

 _..._

 _Rosaria's Thumb notes: I intend to make a new build and invade every area a dozen times for inspiration (though I already have a bunch of ideas). This will be something of a depiction of my typical PvP experience, all wrapped around a story. I have something of an ending in mind, though I doubt we'll get there..._

 _I need input and criticisms, because I have never written before._

 _Heysel uses a hammer/catalyst, Creighton an axe, Leonhard a shotel (shaped) curved sword and Kirk a straight sword. With this in mind, what should my character use as a main? I'd like to make a build I wouldn't usually run with, ''Rosaria's Thumb'' is kind of a blank slate at the moment._

 _Thank you for your time_

 _..._


End file.
